Luneshale Pass Immerse the baby's head

soto's initial alarm subsides as he realizes the boy is fine. more than fine, actually - his wriggling body is free of the redness from before, and his expression is as sunny as the clouds above are grey.

mirar! exclaims the cloudpuff puppy, his gaze rapt upon the darting of bugs upon the water. soto grins; once, somewhere around delos' age, soto had been hungry. he'd wandered from the den down to a creek, and here a great gyration of monarch butterflies wheeled, their orange wings fanning the air in wildfire strokes. he'd been mesmerized -- but he'd been hungry too -- and he'd spent the better part of an hour leaping and cavorting while the fluttering things easily winged past the clumsy snaps of his puppy teeth.

to be young again! soto sinks to his belly, nudging delos towards the water. atrápalos, muchacho. he urges, unaware the boy might not hear him.